The Red Dragon Just Wants To Do As It Pleases

When David, his face covered in bloody scratches, arrived at the prearranged rendezvous point on the ground. He was accompanied by his elderly Silver Dragon father—who, for reasons unknown, had once again assumed a female Drow Elf form and was now limping—and a Drow slave. There, they met with a few of David's subordinates.

Even the worldly Hiatt couldn't help but be taken aback by the scene before her.

The evident injuries on David's face could only have been inflicted by another dragon.

She recognized Alianna, who was even one of her former private creditors.

Thus, it could only have been that Drow who didn't seem like a Drow at first glance, based on her demeanor.

Most likely another Silver Dragon with the Shape Manipulation ability, though it was her first time seeing one willing to take on their Drow form.

Master has finally reached that age, huh? Youth is indeed beautiful, Hiatt thought to herself.

But now was clearly not the time for such musings. Even though she could sense that her master's mood wasn't too wonderful, she still stepped forward and spoke directly,

"Master, Rosinde wishes to see you."

"What's wrong with him?" David asked, instinctively feeling a sense of foreboding.

"He's... he's about to die... He's only being kept alive by that batch of potions you provided," the Drow reported truthfully.

"What?" David was shocked. The first vassal he had just taken under his wing was going to die?

This was the very figurehead he had planned to flaunt to attract various talents to his side!

Now it was about to be smashed right on his own claws?

As David and his group hastened to their hideout, they listened to the Drow's explanation.

It turned out that Rosinde, this straightforward Barbarian, was overly earnest, trying to protect two Drow comrades-in-arms during the escort of the goods.

It was one thing for Hiatt, a former Shadow Dancer, but he even tried to save that worthless Drow Mage as well.

As a result, he paid a heavy price.

The numerous wounds all over his body probably exceeded a hundred, with the fatal damage being caused by the eight poisoned and cursed daggers wielded by the Shadow Dancers.

If not for Endless Rage, granted by David, which enabled him to withstand the punishment, an ordinary person would have likely died on the spot.

With such injuries, it was already a miracle he survived until David's return.

Sure enough, as David entered the cave and saw the Barbarian lying nearly in a pool of blood, the man was breathing his last and couldn't even speak. The Winter Wolf, covered in blood as well, ceaselessly whimpered and licked at his cheek, but it seemed as though seeing his Dragon Lord finally arrive was enough to elicit a faint smile from him.

It was as if he were saying, "My lord, I have not failed your charge. Not only have I brought back the goods, but I've also brought them back safely..."

What an idiot! Yet David ultimately did not voice this thought.

Despite their brief association, this foolish loyalty and sense of duty alone earned the Barbarian a modicum of respect from David, a Red Dragon, toward his vassal.

Even if reluctantly, he stubbornly turned his head towards his elderly Silver Dragon father, who seemed to be similarly assessing the Barbarian's injuries, and asked,

"How is it? Is there any hope for him? Like with Restoration Spell or something? Just name the cost and the materials."

Attilicia, still assuming her Drow form, seemed to weigh her options carefully, but then she shook her head and said,

"Restoration Spell won't work. His fatal wounds are far too numerous. A living body is like an exquisite alchemical tool; a perfect restoration of one part would disrupt the current balance, and he would die even faster."

David was growing impatient, thinking who had time to listen to such pedantic talk at this point, and he flicked his tail in annoyance as he said,

"Just tell me if he can be saved or not!"

"We could use Resurrection Spell," Attilicia uttered, her words astonishing enough to startle a dragon.

"That would mean I'd have to kill him first?" David was taken aback.

"Theoretically, yes," Attilicia admitted, apparently having no prior experience with using Resurrection Spell on someone not yet dead.

"...And the cost?" David inquired.

"At least a thousand Dewensen gold coins worth of diamond dust as a casting material."

THUD.

"This box should suffice," said David, freshly enriched from fleecing the Drow, extracting a whole box from his Portable Cave.

It was just eighteen pounds of gold, barely a fraction of a fraction of the value of the goods.

A loyal and exceptional vassal was worth the expense.

"I haven't finished speaking..." Attilicia opened her mouth.

"Spit it out then! Finish your sentence already. Are you waiting for him to breathe his last so we can use Resurrection Spell straightaway?" David was trying to be as diplomatic as possible.

But his elderly Silver Dragon father was still thoroughly infuriated and retorted,

"I have to explain this clearly first! Do you think a Red Dragon like you can even understand these simple principles?"

Seeing his rebellious Red Dragon offspring about to retort again, he quickly started explaining, "Although Resurrection Spell sounds convenient, and even its material cost seems cheap compared to a precious life, you must understand a fundamental premise. This premise is a rule of life and death that all beings cannot resist: once life has passed away, the soul is instinctively drawn to the Styx River, heading to a lower plane of existence."

Attilicia, fearing that David, despite possessing the Dragon's legacy—a veritable mountain of books—remained unlearned, driven by the instincts of both a father and a scholar, posed a question to gauge his understanding:

"You do understand what this means, don't you?"

"So during this process, there could be losses in his soul's memory?" David murmured.

"Yes. Unless the soul is directly captured by higher-level devils, or is directly summoned by the deities worshipped in life—bypassing the Hazy Dominion to the Divine Realm—it is a slow, irreversible cleansing process. Furthermore, during the time we prepare and perform the Resurrection Spell ceremony, no one can guarantee which memories he will lose."

Attilicia did not continue, but David, who possessed the Dragon's legacy and had been diligently flipping through its volumes to pass the time, knew just as well what this meant.

It meant that even if he forcefully resurrected this Barbarian, there was a high chance the man would experience a significant drop in combat ability, or lose the memories of his loyalty to him.

Either way, it signified an irreparable and major loss for a vassal.

"What about True Resurrection Spell?" David asked, not quite ready to accept this.

As far as he knew, True Resurrection Spell was tens of times more expensive in terms of materials. However, legend said that as long as this spell was used, even someone deceased within the last two hundred years could be completely restored, provided they consented, even if their body had turned to ash.

Then he saw his elderly Silver Dragon father purse his lips and say,

"That's a ninth-level spell, a legendary one at that. Do you think I, a mere young Silver Dragon, would know such a high-end technique?"

What he didn't continue to say was, even if it was True Resurrection Spell, so what? A loss in the soul is still a loss, unless one can reverse time.

For this reason, those who cling to the hope of using True Resurrection Spell decades or centuries later often end up with tragedy.

Most who have gone to the Divine Realm do not wish to come back.

And those who have fallen to a lower plane may already have had their souls twisted by the rules of that plane into the form of devils or demons.

Even if they truly 'consented' to be resurrected, they would be nothing more than demons or devils in human guise.

To Attilicia's surprise, this time David was unexpectedly adamant, declaring,

"Then use Resurrection Spell. List whatever is needed."

His elderly Silver Dragon father hadn't even had time to react when David picked up a dragon-tooth blade from beside the Barbarian's body and pressed it against the man's continuously bleeding chest, and declared,

"Rosinde, my vassal, you are a true man! You wouldn't fear a minor death, would you? Your Dragon Lord, I, will now end your suffering myself and send you on your way!"

GASP! Suddenly, a blood-soaked hand grabbed the sharp blade.

"No... don't..." The Barbarian seemed to rally in a final burst of clarity.

"I don't want... to forget..."

"I don't want to forget... my lover..."

"Monada..."

Everyone present, including David, who had been immersed in a somewhat desolate atmosphere, was stunned.

He had never expected that the Barbarian feared not death, but forgetting the memories of that damned love.

And for an Ogre, of all things!

I salute you as a true man!

But damn it, once you enter the Styx River, won't you still forget what you shouldn't?

Alas.

Just as David was ready to respect the wishes and will of this vassal of his, allowing him to drown in the Styx River while clutching onto that beautiful illusion,

He suddenly felt a stirring in his heart, as if realizing some possibility. His dragon claw gripped the Barbarian's hand, his eyes glaring like high-power heating elements. He then said,

"Rosinde."

"My vassal."

"You."

"Would you trust me one more time?"